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Echo Challenge Illuminate

Thursday, March 11th, 2010 by Alyice

“Clever people master life; the wise illuminate it.”
– Emile Nolde

It’s echo time! This time the prompt is “Illuminate”. Just reading the word “illuminate” conjures up all kinds of thoughts: to shine light on a situation, to brighten a dark path, to enlighten the mind, to give hope to the hurting.

There were so many directions I could’ve gone with this one word. So many things I could have said and images I could’ve shown. But ultimately, I was stuck on one event—one moment in time.

The day was July 4.
The time, my childhood.
The event, fireworks.

Every 4th of July as a child, growing up in the projects, was magical—and illuminating. While we often avoided going out after dark, we always managed to fill the streets on this one special day. The lights in our neighborhood were all but non-existent as one by one boxes of fireworks were opened and shared amongst the children.

My favorite piece of firework was the Sparkler. I could hold a Sparkler in my hand until the very last second.

I could still hear my mother’s voice reminding me not to drop it on the grass as “it could catch on fire” or reminding me not to wave it in the face of another child as the sparks could “put out an eye” or “catch someone’s hair on fire”—which actually did happen once, the hair on fire thing I mean.

It’s funny how childhood memories fade over time, and yet some remain as vivid and real as the day you experienced them.

Until next time…

P.S.
Please stop by my Echo partner’s post on Illuminate.

Posted in Echo Challenge | 1 Comment »

Thanks For The Check Ups

Friday, March 5th, 2010 by Alyice

Growing up in the projects, I didn’t have a father. My mother was it—the end all. She told us what we could and could not do, how to dress, how to talk, and how to behave in public. She put food on the table and played Santa Claus at Christmas. She was both mother and father—encourager and enforcer.

But on the rare occasion she needed a man to step up to the plate—to play enforcer or to put the fear of God in someone, she had only to call upon Kenny D.

Everyone I knew in the projects was terrified of Kenny D. Think Paul Bunyan with dark skin and a look that said, “Don’t you mess with me!”

And yet, I wasn’t afraid of him. To me, he was like one oversized teddy bear that hadn’t been quite worn in. I knew that he was there to protect us, not cause harm. And I knew, that should my sister or I get out of line, he would be right there to put us back in our place.

He was a good friend to my mother. He didn’t abuse her, he didn’t take advantage of her, he didn’t threaten her kids to get what he wanted from her. He simply showed her compassion, kindness, and what it was like to feel respected. He also showed her love— the kind of love a brother would show a sister.

He knew that she was all alone in the projects. He knew that it was hard for her to admit that she needed help; especially from a male figure. And he knew that she had a stubborn streak about her that made it damn near impossible for anyone to win an argument with her . And yet, he found a way around all her defenses.

Though he moved away before we had a chance to move out of the projects, he never forgot her—or us. Every few years, he made a special trip to see my mom just so he could “really” see how she was doing, and get her to open up and share things only he could get her to talk about. And he always asked us if we were “being good”.

It’s been 20 years since I’ve moved out of my mother’s house, and 3 years since she passed away—and yet, Kenny D still manages to call me every couple of years just to ask if I am “being good”.

The conversations are never more than 20 minutes long, and he never provides much detail on what’s happening in his neck of the woods—but he always manages to get me to spill the beans about what’s happening in mine.

Two weeks ago, Kenny D., at the ripe young age of 79, called to ask “if I was being good”—and why the hell my sister and I aren’t talking! His voice is raspier this year, but his mind is as sharp as a tack, and his heart is still as big as the ocean is blue. He’s retiring, and moving back to his wife’s hometown—and with any luck, he’ll be able to stop by on his way through.

After I hung up the phone, I realized that yes, it had been a few years since I last heard his voice—and I realized that the call, this time, was not so much about “how I was doing” as it was about somehow staying connected to my mom.

He had known my mother for over thirty years. And though they lived far away and their phone calls grew less over time, they were still good friends. I can’t imagine the loss he must feel over losing someone who felt like his kid sister.

But I can say this much, it blesses my heart to know that my mother had a male friend like him—and that, in a subtle way, my sister and I got to see what a good, platonic, male/female relationship could be like.

And it blesses my heart to know that he still prays for me and my sister, and that we are still on his mind. I am grateful for his check-ups. I am grateful to hear his voice and to be reminded that not all things in the projects were bad—that some good came from that life, like Kenny D.

Give thanks…

Posted in It's Gratitude, Dude! | 2 Comments »

Little Princess

Thursday, March 4th, 2010 by Alyice

My friend’s granddaughter—my honorary great niece—ended up having two back-to-back surgeries last week. It’s at times like these that I wish I lived closer. I hate having to read about stuff like this on Facebook—which is how the family keeps each other updated.

At only seven years of age, Jasmin, had two surgeries. She went in to repair something called, Intussusceptions, and discovered her appendix needed to be removed, too. I still cannot believe what a little trooper she was! She’s recovering nicely, but prayers are always appreciated.

To let her know that I was thinking of her, I sent her a little care package: this vase, in which I affectionately named “Little Princess”, as Jasmin reminds me of the princess Jasmine from Disney’s Aladdin, a cute soft and cuddly baby blue purse, and a handmade note card with loads of hugs and kisses.

Give thanks…

Posted in Artist's Life, The Art Jars | No Comments »

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